Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

By the time Nia finally left the water, the ache in her shoulders had softened without disappearing completely. Winter work had a way of staying in the body no matter how much heat soaked into muscle, but the sharp pull along her neck had eased, and her hands no longer tightened painfully every time she flexed her fingers beneath the steam.

Kael was still across the pool. He had stayed there the entire time, present without hovering or turning away so completely that it felt like avoidance. Nia noticed that balance more than she wanted to.

The water lapped quietly around her as she reached for the edge of the pool. The folded cloth still covered her securely beneath the surface, though the fabric had grown heavy with water, clinging to her arms and chest as she shifted toward the shallow step.

Kael’s attention shifted immediately to her hands on the stone.

He did not step forward. He only watched, waiting to see whether she needed help before deciding she did. That almost made it worse.

Nia braced one palm against the warmed stone edge and lifted herself onto the first submerged step. Heat streamed down her skin, water sliding from her shoulders and braids in steady rivulets that broke across the pool surface below.

The air outside the water felt cooler despite the steam, and she inhaled through her teeth before she could stop herself.

Kael’s jaw tightened.

“I’m fine,” she said before he could speak.

His eyes stayed on her face. “You say that quickly when you think I’m about to move.”

“Because you usually are.”

“You usually do.”

Nia paused with one hand still gripping the stone.

The worst part was that he sounded perfectly reasonable.

She narrowed her eyes instead of answering and stepped carefully onto the next ledge.

Water fell from the soaked cloth in heavy streams. The weight of it pulled at her arms while runoff spread across the heated stone beneath her feet.

Kael shifted his weight.

Nia looked at him immediately.

He stopped.

The pause came naturally enough now that her chest tightened around it before she could stop herself.

“Give me a second,” she said.

Kael nodded once.

That was all.

There was no argument, no warning about slipping, no reminder that wet stone was dangerous. He only stayed where he was while she found her footing.

Nia stepped out of the pool slowly, one hand trailing along the stone edge until both feet settled on the heated floor. Steam curled around her knees and rose toward the damp cloth wrapped close to her body. Her braids hung heavy over one shoulder, dripping steadily onto the runoff groove beside the pool.

The cedar bench stood only a few steps away.

A dry cloth waited there.

Folded, warmed, and placed near enough to reach without crossing the chamber. Kael had set it there sometime while she was in the water.

Nia reached for it and wrapped it around herself before the cooler air could settle too deeply against her skin.

The cloth smelled faintly of smoke and clean wool.

She tucked it securely beneath one arm, then glanced toward Kael.

He was facing slightly away now, giving her enough privacy to dry without making a performance of not looking.

Kael kept giving her privacy in ways that made it increasingly difficult to remember why she was supposed to stay guarded around him in the first place.

“You can stop pretending not to watch me breathe,” she said before the silence turned strange again.

Kael’s mouth shifted faintly. “I wasn’t pretending.”

Nia looked at him over the top of the cloth. “That is not better.”

“You nearly slipped.”

“I did not nearly slip. The floor was wet.”

“That is usually how slipping starts.”

She opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

Kael’s expression did not change, but the corner of his mouth threatened her peace.

Nia pointed one damp finger toward him. “Do not look pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased you didn’t fall.”

“Your face disagrees.”

“What is my face saying?”

“That you are very satisfied with being impossible.”

His low sound moved through the steam before he could stop it.

Nia turned away before the warmth in her face became too obvious and reached for the dry clothes folded at the end of the bench.

She could tell from the stitching that the dry clothes were Sera’s work.

The fabric was soft and thick, the inner layer brushed smooth enough that it would not catch against damp skin. The outer wrap had been warmed near the vent stones, and stored heat spread through her fingers when she lifted it.

She looked at the clothing for a moment too long.

Kael followed her attention toward the folded clothing. “My mother sent those up after the vent line cleared.”

“Of course she did.”

“She said if I let you walk back in damp kitchen clothes, she would handle me herself.”

Nia’s lips twitched despite herself. “I believe her.”

“So do I.”

The answer carried enough quiet respect that her smile nearly escaped.

Sera had a way of treating Kael like both chief and son depending on which role irritated her more at the moment. It made the household feel different from what Nia had expected when she first learned he led Varesh. Less formal. Less distant. Authority existed everywhere around him, but inside these upper caverns it softened around meals, blankets, repairs, scolding, and the everyday arguments of people who had lived around one another long enough to know where everything belonged.

Nia had started learning where things belonged too.

That thought made her fingers pause against the folded clothing.

Kael turned his head slightly, not enough to look at her fully.

“You stopped moving.”

“I’m moving.”

“You’re holding the tunic.”

“I am thinking.”

“It still goes over your head.”

Nia stared at the side of his face.

“Kael.”

His mouth shifted again.

He was absolutely enjoying himself.

“Face the wall,” she said.

“I already am.”

“More.”

He turned a little farther, shoulders angled toward the steam-darkened stone.

Nia changed quickly after that, keeping the drying cloth around herself until the last possible second before pulling the warmed tunic over her head. The fabric settled around her body with enough warmth and softness to pull an exhale from her before she realized it. The trousers followed, then the outer wrap, thick and dry and blessedly warm after the damp cloth.

By the time she finished tying the last side cord, she felt almost human again.

Or whatever passed for human now. Her ears twitched at the stray thought, and Nia reached up automatically to touch one through the damp edge of her braid. She still did that sometimes, though less often now.

Kael turned only after she lowered her hand.

His gaze flicked once over her face, then her shoulders, then her feet.

Checking, always checking.

“You’re warm enough?”

“Yes.”

“Your hair is still wet.”

“My hair is always going to take longer to dry than the rest of me.”

Kael looked toward the cedar shelf. “There are drying cloths.”

“I know.”

“You should sit near the vents.”

“I know.”

“You’ll get cold if you walk back with it wet.”

Nia folded her arms. “You are getting dangerously close to wrapping my whole head in cloth.”

Kael looked as if he was considering whether that would work.

“No,” she said immediately.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something.”

“Probably.”

Nia lowered her face into one hand for a moment.

The small laugh that slipped out of her came easier than she expected after the heat, the quiet, and the long stretch of being watched so carefully while he still stopped himself before crossing anywhere she had not allowed.

When she looked up again, Kael was watching her with that same contained softness from the pool.

The softness in his expression unsettled her badly enough that she reached for the drying cloth before he could notice the reaction properly.

Nia reached for one of the smaller drying cloths and began squeezing water carefully from the lower half of her braids.

The work gave her something to do with her hands.

Kael crossed to the side shelf and picked up another cloth.

He stopped beside her but did not reach for her hair.

Nia glanced at the cloth.

Then at him.

His expression remained patient.

No assumption, no command, only the question held in the pause.

The breath she took felt too warm.

“You can help with the ends,” she said. “Don’t pull.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it. My scalp is not one of your patrol ropes.”

Kael’s brows lowered faintly. “I know.”

Nia gave him a look.

He accepted it without offense.

“I know how yours works,” he corrected.

That answer only made the heat in her face spread faster.

She turned away before her face could betray her, gathering the top half of her braids over one shoulder while Kael moved behind her.

His hands touched only the lower lengths.

Careful and warm even through the cloth.

He squeezed water from the ends slowly, section by section, never tugging hard enough to pull at her scalp. The rhythm settled into the quiet of the chamber beside the water moving beneath the floor and the low sigh of vents releasing heat into the stone.

Nia looked down at her own hands.

The oil had soaked in fully now, leaving her skin softer around the knuckles where cracks had threatened earlier.

Kael worked in silence for a while.

Then he said, “Your braids are longer than when I found you.”

Nia blinked.

“They are?”

“A little.”

“You noticed that?”

“Yes.”

Of course he did.

She swallowed and looked toward the far pool where steam drifted over the water.

“They grow slowly.”

“I know.”

The answer was immediate enough that she glanced back slightly.

Kael’s gaze was on the braids in his hands, his brow furrowed faintly in concentration as he pressed the cloth around the damp ends.

“How do you know?”

“You mentioned it while Sera was helping with your hair after dinner.”

“I did?”

“You said winter was going to test your patience and everyone else’s survival instincts.”

Nia stared at him.

Then she remembered saying that.

Mostly because Sera had been detangling a section near her nape after smoke and steam tangled the smaller hairs there, and Nia had been trying very hard not to complain like a child.

“You remember entirely too much,” she said.

Kael continued drying the ends. “You say many useful things when you think people aren’t listening.”

“That still was not useful.”

“It told Sera not to comb that section dry.”

Nia paused.

She had not noticed that part.

Sera had warmed oil between her palms afterward and worked it through the base of the braids before continuing.

Quietly, without making Nia ask. The household did that often now, changing around things she said once and adjusting before she fully noticed she needed anything adjusted.

Nia rubbed her thumb over the back of her hand.

“Your family listens too much.”

Kael’s hands paused briefly around the cloth.

Then he resumed more slowly.

“My family listens when someone belongs inside the mountain.”

The words came quietly enough that the vents nearly swallowed them.

Nia had to look back toward the water before the weight behind the words showed too clearly across her face.

She stared toward the pool and watched steam gather and break across the water’s surface.

There it was again, not said exactly and not forced, resting in the room like a warmed cloth folded near her hand before she knew she needed it.

Nia breathed in carefully.

Cedarwood, mineral water, smoke woven deep into the drying cloth, and Kael’s hands still at the ends of her braids.

She could have corrected him.

She could have stepped sideways into humor or said something about technically living here because of weather, circumstance, and the fact that she still had nowhere else to go. Instead she stayed still.

Kael did not press the point.

He finished drying the last section and lowered the cloth.

“There.”

Nia reached back to touch the ends.

Still damp, but no longer dripping.

“Thank you.”

Kael folded the cloth once. “Mm.”

Nia glanced over her shoulder. “You are terrible at accepting thanks properly.”

“I accepted it.”

“You made a noise.”

“That was acceptance.”

“That barely counted as language.”

His mouth shifted.

“It counts.”

“According to who?”

“Me.”

Nia shook her head and turned fully toward him before she could think better of it.

He stood close.

Not too close, but close enough that the warmth from his body mingled with the heat still rising from the pool behind her.

The drying cloth remained in one of his hands.

A loose strand near her temple had curled from the damp air.

Kael’s gaze moved to it.

Paused.

Then returned to her face, waiting again.

Nia should have stepped back.

Instead, she lifted one hand and touched the curl herself.

“You’re thinking about fixing it.”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“You prefer that.”

“I prefer a lot of things.”

Kael’s attention sharpened faintly.

Nia heard her own words after they left her mouth.

Steam drifted thicker between them after that while heat from the pools settled more heavily through the stone beneath her feet.

She looked away first.

Kael did not move.

Did not tease.

Did not use the opening she had accidentally given him.

He only folded the drying cloth more carefully than necessary and set it on the cedar bench.

Every time Kael deliberately stopped short of pushing too far, she found herself struggling more with the fact that part of her no longer wanted him to stop.

A faint knock sounded against the outer stone frame before either of them spoke.

Nia turned immediately toward the entrance coverings.

Kael’s posture changed at once.

Not alarmed, but alert.

The chamber shifted with him, private warmth giving way to the awareness of the household beyond the door.

“Kael?” Darius called from the corridor. “Sera sent food before Nia decides hot water counts as dinner.”

Nia closed her eyes.

Kael’s low amusement moved through the room.

“She knows you well,” he said.

“She’s becoming too powerful.”

Darius made a sound from outside that suggested he had heard enough to enjoy himself. “I’m leaving the tray by the bench. Sera said to make sure both of you actually eat it.”

“We heard you,” Kael said.

Nia looked at him sharply.

Darius laughed once before his footsteps retreated down the corridor.

The chamber fell quiet again, but the moment had shifted.

Not broken, only moved into the next shape.

Kael crossed to the entrance and pulled the coverings aside just enough to retrieve the tray from the outer bench. Warm food scents entered with him when he returned — roasted root mash, broth thickened with grain, something savory wrapped in broad leaves, and a small covered cup that probably held the honeyed tea Sera had started pressing into her hands after long kitchen days.

Nia’s stomach reacted immediately.

Kael looked at her.

She lifted a hand before he could speak. “Do not say it.”

“You need to eat.”

“I said not to say it.”

“You knew I would.”

“That does not make it better.”

He set the tray on the low table near the vents, close enough that the stone heat would keep the food warm.

Nia followed because pride had limits and the food smelled too good to ignore.

The root mash had been seasoned with the herb oil she taught Mara to use two days earlier. The broth carried more depth than it would have a month ago, richer from toasted grain and slow-cooked bones. Thin slices of roasted meat had been folded inside the leaves with crushed winter herbs and rendered fat to keep them soft.

Nia picked up one wrapped piece and took a bite.

Her eyes closed.

Across the table, Kael went very still.

She opened one eye. “Do not start.”

“I didn’t.”

“You were about to look pleased.”

“I am pleased.”

“You could at least try to hide it.”

“No.”

She huffed, then took another bite because hiding her own pleasure had already become impossible.

The food was simple, but it carried the kind of warmth that came from people adjusting slowly around one another. There was more salt in the broth because she kept mentioning that cold weather dulled flavor. Toasted grain deepened the smell, and the leaf wrap steamed against her fingers because someone had remembered she liked food that stayed hot longer.

Nia chewed more slowly.

Kael sat across from her without reaching for the food first.

That made her look up.

“You’re not eating?”

“I ate earlier.”

“That means no.”

“It means I ate earlier.”

“What did you eat?”

Kael looked at the tray.

Nia lowered the leaf wrap.

“Kael.”

“A strip of dried meat.”

“That is not dinner.”

“It was enough.”

“No.”

His brows lowered slightly.

Nia pushed the broth bowl toward him. “Eat.”

“This was sent for you.”

“And I am sharing.”

“You need it more.”

“I need you to stop lecturing me about food while surviving on dried meat.”

Kael stared at her.

Nia stared back.

The vents sighed softly beside them.

After several seconds, Kael accepted the bowl.

Nia felt victorious for approximately half a breath before realizing he looked quietly satisfied.

“You wanted me to argue,” she said.

“I wanted you to eat.”

“You also wanted me to fuss at you.”

His mouth shifted.

Absolutely guilty.

Nia pointed the half-eaten wrap at him. “You are manipulative in deeply domestic ways.”

Kael drank the broth without answering.

That was answer enough.

The two of them ate beside the heated vents while steam moved through the chamber and the snow kept sealing Varesh into itself outside. Food warmed her from the inside after the bath had softened the ache from her muscles, and by the time Nia finished the second leaf wrap, the heaviness in her limbs had turned looser and sleepier.

Kael noticed that too.

Of course he did.

“Bed,” he said.

Nia looked at him over the cup of tea. “That barely qualified as a sentence.”

“You understood it.”

“I understand plenty of rude things.”

“Bed, Nia.”

The way he said her name made the argument weaken before she fully assembled it.

She sipped the tea instead.

Honey, spiced bark, something floral underneath. Sera had definitely made it.

“I have ledgers upstairs,” she said.

“I know.”

“I need to check tomorrow’s grain rotation.”

“You can check it after sleeping.”

“If I sleep first, I might forget.”

“You won’t. Shen already checked the grain rotation.”

Nia paused.

“Shen checked it?”

Kael nodded once. “Before dinner.”

Quiet, clever, infuriating Shen.

Nia stared into her tea.

“He knew I was going to try to work tonight.”

“Yes.”

“And you knew he knew.”

“Yes.”

“And neither of you told me.”

“You would have argued.”

“I am arguing now.”

“You’re too tired to argue well.”

Nia looked up slowly.

Kael held her gaze over the tray.

His expression remained too calm.

She set the cup down with great care.

“I am choosing peace because Sera fed me.”

“Good.”

“That was not permission to look pleased again.”

Kael looked pleased anyway.

The heated bath chamber, the drying cloths, the food, the tea, Shen quietly removing work before she could cling to it, Sera sending warm clothing and dinner, Kael treating every small care like it mattered — all of it gathered around her until resisting any of it felt pointless.

Nia rubbed one hand over her face.

“All of you are conspiring against me.”

“Yes.”

The honesty was immediate.

She dropped her hand and stared at him.

Kael finished the last of the broth.

“At least pretend to deny it.”

“No.”

Nia’s laugh came out tired and warm while Kael reached to cover the remaining food so it would stay warm for later.

Outside, another gust of wind pressed faintly through the deeper vent lines. The mountain answered with its usual low groan beneath the storm, steady and old around them.

Nia listened to it while Kael stood and gathered the tray.

For once, she did not reach for something else to do, ask about the ledgers again, or pretend she was less tired than she was.

When Kael held out one hand to help her stand, she looked at it for only a moment before placing her own hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers.

Warm, careful, steady.

Nia let him pull her to her feet.

The bath chamber remained full of cedarwood steam behind them as they walked back toward the household rooms, leaving wet footprints that faded quickly from the heated stone.

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